Vetinari's heir
by Honor Eleanor
Summary: Lord Havelock Vetinari is roaming the city one night and discovers that one kind action can change his life in a way he had never even dreamed was possible- please read and review
1. nightly jaunts

Disclaimer: I don't own so please don't sue

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Lord Havelock Vetinari winced slightly as he lowered himself to the uneven roof of the bakery. Wistfully he recalled the days when an easy jaunt around the rooftops took no more toll than a stroll through the park. He was, ye gods, was he really forty-three already?

The trouble was his creaking knees and aching back only proved the point he had ignored for so long. He was not going to live forever- and who could he trust to run the city when he was gone. Vetinari knew he ought to find and heir, so here he was scouring the middens of Ankh-Morpork when he could be in his not quite warm or cozy, but at least better than out here, office.

He quickly moved through the city, taking a shortcut through the slums, the dirty and rickety buildings proving more of a challenge than he anticipated. As Vetinari passed over one particularly unstable building his foot caught a loose tile. Falling heavily he froze, listening for sounds of discovery, his eyes alert.

Sure enough movement caught the corner of his eye. A man was weaving an unsteady way home. The man was large but mostly with muscle that had gone into decay. Vetinari was willing to bet that his eyes were the bloodshot eyes of a heavy drinker, his walking betrayed the rest. Slowly the man stopped and finished off the bottle he held in his paunchy fist. Dashing it to the cobblestone streets he watched it shatter with satisfaction before entering the house Vetinari perched on, massaging his sore ankle.

"Where'sh my shupper?" came a bellow from the house. "Dammit girl! A man needsh to eat!" Vetinari heard a rattle of cutlery and plates, and the dull clunk of something set on wood.

"What do you call this mesh? Not fit for pigsh, ish not!"

"It's all we have da." this voice was soft and light but with a hint of steel hidden deep within it. Intrigued Vetinari crept over to a crack in the roof and peered down.

The room was a neat version of a dump. The wooden table had only three legs, and was propped up by a stick for the third. The wobbly stool the man was sitting on was the only chair in the room. A mess of rags had been piled up for a bed by the rickety tin stove, which had lost a door and gave feeble warmth. The cleanest of all the rags was spread on top of the huddle of children who were sleeping there. A broken bedstead with a corn husk mattress stood opposite the other corner and was covered with a slightly nicer blanket. A wooden shelf was the last of the contents of the room. It housed a box which had strands of unspun wool sticking out, a small collection of whittled and partly carved figures, and a small measure of food which was practically gone.

A girl, no more than 19, was standing by the stove, staring at the plate she had placed in front of her father. She was tall and almost skeletally thin, her gaunt looks attributed to the many meals she had missed. Her long and lank brown hair hung around her pallid face, but her hard blue eyes looked daggers at her father with thinly veiled hate and contempt.

"The rent is due tomorrow, as well as the last of your gambling debts. I'll need all of your paycheck to cover them." She consulted a small blue notebook she produced from a threadbare pocket. "We've barely enough as is."

"Don't be telling me what to do girl, not in my own house! The money's not yours!" Anger made him sober as he stood threateningly over her. "Your place is just to watch the little ones!"

"My place is all that keeps this family together and off the streets."

"Well perhaps we would do better if you went out on the streets and earned your money that way."

The girl stood as if she had been slapped. "You would sell your own daughter to the wolves so long as you could keep your drink?"

"Aye." Without another word he stamped over to the big bed and fell down on it heavily, turning his back on his family and the wretched hate on the face of his daughter.

Slowly Vetinari edged off the roof and digging through his pockets found a handful of coins. Leaving them on the doorstep he knocked lightly before melting away into the shadows. He watched the girl come out and find them, he saw her search for her mysterious benefactor, and he heard the thanks she called out into the night air; a slight smile playing about his lips before he crept off into the darkness.


	2. a new pespective

Mariel Daniels lowered her head into her hands with a weary thump. The strange gift she had found would feed them for a day or so but no more. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to never have to worry about having enough money to by one small loaf of bread, to never have to pay another gambling debt or excessive bar tab. But that would never happen. She should be grateful just to make enough for the rent.

Again she pulled out the worn blue account book and a stub of pencil she had found in a gutter near the school. Bending her head low over the numbers she added and subtracted and balanced until the juggled sums bent to her will. _Market day tomorrow_ she thought, _we might be able to sell enough to hold us till next week_. Glancing at the recumbent form of her father she knelt by the corner of the old stove and pulled a small bag from under a loose cobble. Mariel added the mysterious coins to the pitiful sum before replacing it and smoothing the dirt back over the weathered stone.

Hearing a low whimper from the pile of bodies on the ragtag bed, Mariel rushed over and looked into the sleepy little face of her sister.

"I'm hungry, Mary." came the plaintive cry from the gaunt little face.

"Hush Gracie, it's alright." Mariel fumbled for a moment before pulling the slice of bread that was meant for her dinner out from her pocket. "Here you go love."

"Why was da yelling tonight?"

_Why does he always yell? _Mariel thought wryly, before answering. "He had a bad day at work and drank a little too much because of it. Now are you ready to sleep? You'll want to be awake for market tomorrow."

"Yes Mary." She watched as the soft eyes fluttered shut. Listening to the growling of her own stomach for a moment Mariel bit her lip then walked over to the box where she kept her spinning. After selecting a hank of rough wool she pulled out the drop spindle and gently let her hands caress it.

It had been her mother's spindle and her mother's mother before that. It was elegant and the only item of value in the house which had never been considered to be sold to pay off debts. The whorl was glossy and polished from the rubbing of years of wool. The wood was a deep chestnut color that gleamed gently and richly. Mariel loved that spindle, she remembered her mother every time she used it.

_Ma had been the only gentling influence on da. Everything was so much better when she was alive. Da even worked more often than not, or at least half the time._ But those days were over. Winding the raw wool to the starter Mariel gave the spindle a viscous twist and let the thread drop through her fingers. As it spiraled down she fed out all of her anger into the thread, letting her bitterness flow out of her and into the thread, slowly calming her until she felt she could face the day without screaming or crying. Winding up two feet of thread she let it go out again and again, draining and restoring, draining and restoring, draining and re...

"Rough day, eh?" Mariel jumped, just maintaining her grip on the unspun wool.

"Tom, you bloody little devil, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"I'm willing to wager an army could have snuck up on you, you were so absorbed." Mariel couldn't help but to smile at the mischievous grin on her little brother's face. At so many times he resembled a six year old rather than a full grown lad of sixteen.

"Well then no dinner for you."

"Not even if I pay for it?" He pressed a few small coins into her hand. "Sorry there's not more, no one wanted to hire a ruffian like me today."

"No, every bit helps." Pushing back a straying hair she quickly arranged a plate for him. "Eat."

Gratefully he began wolfing it down before pausing and looking at her more carefully. "You didn't eat today," he accused.

"Grace was hungry... No I couldn't," she said trying to refuse the half he offered her.

"If you don't eat this Mariel Daniels I shall be very upset."

"Oh all right, and thank you."

Catching her gaze Tom fixed her with his most concerned brotherly stare. "Don't go starving yourself, we need you too much."

Understanding his meaning Mariel allowed herself to slump forward on the table. "Ye gods Tom, it was bad tonight. He was drunker than usual. And the paycheck- he practically refused it of me. He has to work tomorrow if we are to receive it but he is being so foul and saying such horrible things that I don't think..."

"Horrible things? What did he say?" Mariel cursed Tom's keen perception at picking up things she hadn't meant to say.

"It was nothing, really."

"Mary, that won't work on me." After several minutes of cajoling, threatening, and wheedling she reluctantly poured out the whole story, every hateful word. "The bastard!" Tom swore, "Threatening you with the streets. If he ever does that again."

"Tom..." She began placatingly.

"After everything else he has done that is the last straw. I will not see him try to turn you into a whore!"

"We will get out someday, but for now think of the little ones. They can't be left with him. I'm keeping our savings hidden, someday we will have enough but not yet. Please don't anger him enough to make it worse..."

"Alright, but if he even suggests such a thing again..."

"I know Tom. I know."

Mariel sat and watched as the last embers of the fire died in the belly of the tin stove, twisting the thread, her only source of income, not even daring to think of others.


	3. the root of all evils

Thanks for the reviews, but for everyone who wants more Vetinari, all I have to say is patience- his lordship does things in his own time, not in yours.

The markets of Ankh-Morpork were bustling with business, people calling out greetings, stall owners trying to attract attention to their wares, and children playing1 underfoot. To sum it up nicely, it was all one noisy, colorful mess.

"Fish, get your fish, right here nice and fresh, just caught! Fish, come and..."

"Too high, too high! Who do you think you are to charge that much for such shoddy work as this, I won't give more than..."

"Thief! He didn't show me his guild card. And in broad daylight too!..."

"Credit? You want credit, you horrible little debtor? I'll give you credit..."

"Sausage inna bun, reasonably priced and mostly identifiable meat! Genuine sausage inna bun, quite cheap and that's cutting me own throat."

"Good morning Mr. Dibbler."

Cut-me-own-throat Dibbler nodded to the thin young woman herding her group of children toward their empty corner of the market. "Morning Miss Mariel, fancy a sausage for the little ones? Eh, Miss Grace, would you like a sausage?" He winked conspiritaly, "I guarantee a special deal for friends."

"No thank you, I don't wish to make her sick."

"Are you insinuating that my sausages would make this lovely child sick?"

"Why Mr. Dibbler," she said, looking aghast. "I meant no such thing, I apologize if my poor word choice would ever let you think that your sausages would make anyone merely sick. I ought to have said violently ill." Giving him a sweet smile she ushered her siblings to the poorer corner of the market by the fountain, where they laid out all of their whittled figures, salvaged scraps, and spun yarn.

"Jonathan, I want you to keep an eye on Sophie and Tessa, I'll keep Gracie here with me. Remember to stay out of the bars, don't break anything, and be back by noon for dinner." Mariel fixed them with a stern eye, "And if I hear even a whisper that says you've been thieving..."

"Yes mother..." Jon spit out in that exasperated tone adopted by twelve year olds everywhere. "We'll behave ourselves."

"Alright, I'm through. Now scat."

Mariel spent a frustrating morning, trying to sell their wares over the more bountiful harvests of her neighbors. The few customers who stopped by were only interested in giving a small pittance for the goods and Mariel refused to accept charity.

"We are not beggars ma'am, nor are we thieves. I bought the wool and spun it myself and I assure you as to its quality."

"But I wanted to do my charity for the week. The priest said "Thou shalt go out and distribute your earthly possessions, keeping some for yourself of course..."

"Look," Mariel said with a touch of impatience "Foul Old Ron is over there, you could give it to him. Otherwise I'd be more than willing to sell you something." At last the woman chose a small carved comb in the shape of an owl, his outstretched wing feathers making the teeth. Mariel sighed, rubbing her temples as the lady left, after insisting on giving an exorbitant price for such a small trinket.

"Why is it that every time I see you, long day is written all over your face?" a sympathetic voice spoke from behind her.

"Next time you man the booth then, Tom, and I'll find work for the day." She paused then continued a rant that had been building up steam all morning, "I just don't understand these people. First they haggle over the price till it is practically nothing, then they try to hand me charity. This is Ankh-Morpork, generosity is unnerving!"

"Well to brighten your day- I found a reasonable job for the afternoon, won't be back till late but I should make five or even ten dollars." He could not keep the excitement out of his voice at the chance to earn real money rather than scraping by with a handful of pennies at the end of the day.

"Can you do a favor for me Tom?"

"Sure, anything."

Pulling a leather purse from her pocket she weighed it in her hand before handing it to him. "Take this to Mr. Samson, it's for the gambling debts and the rent."

Tom handled the pouch reverently as he tucked it away, "how did you manage it without da's paycheck?"

"I didn't, that is da's pay. I went down early and talked to Mr. Jones at the shipping company and he gave it to me once I convinced him of the need."

"You shouldn't have, he'll be furious."

"Let him be." She jutted her chin out stubbornly, "there is no other way if he fritters it away on ale so I kept it safe." Mellowing slightly at the alarmed look on her brother's face she softened. "Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself. Now run along and drop that money off safely. Supper will be ready when you get home." With slight protests Tom allowed himself to be ushered off to his errand and new job.

As the morning gave way to the noontime heat, both customers and merchants began to filter out of the market and head for home or a bar to get a refreshing lunch. As the market was abandoned Mariel tried to find the children who had conveniently lost themselves. By the time everyone was gathered it was rather late to go home for lunch so Mariel proposed a picnic in the deserted market, a choice which the children seized upon with glee.

The table scraps picnic was just finishing when someone staggered into the plaza. "Da!" Mariel exclaimed jumping up.

"Where is it girl? What have you done with it?" He was in a partly drunken rage, angrier than a mad bull and most likely more dangerous as well. Unobtrusively Mariel motioned the children to hide, and they did, all except Grace who clung to the back of Mariel's skirts.

"Done with what da?"

"The money wench. Dammit you stole my money!"

Squaring her shoulders Mariel faced him. "I did no such thing. I took the money that's true," she paused for his inarticulate bellow of rage, "but I gave it over to pay for the rent and your debts. Your gambling debts and bar debts, that's where the money is..."

"Shut up!" He struck her across the face. His drunken eyes took on a calculating look and he snatched little Grace from behind Mariel. Looking at her he tried to sound coaxing and threatening at the same time, "I'll bet you know where my money is? Tell your da..."

"She doesn't know, and I told you I paid the debts with it. Let her go!" Mariel took a step towards them, stopping only when he pulled Grace closer and lifted his hand in readyment for a blow.

Mariel watched Grace's struggle and sluggish tears, feeling her anger grow. "Here!" she cried, pulling a second pouch from her pocket. "This is it, just let her go!"

Catching Grace as she ran to her she threw the purse with her other hand and watched as he opened it greedily. The few pennies earned from market that day fell into his open palm, a scant offering he eyed with disgust. Dashing them to the ground he inspected the empty pouch before speaking, this time soft and dangerously, his eyes glittering with barely suppressed rage.

"Where is it?" he hissed.

"I told you, it's gone to pay off your debts, gone!" She screamed back at him, all of her hatred boiling through. And at last she could see that he believed her, his money, his drink was gone.

In two strides he was next to her, and instinctively she bent over Grace, protecting her from the blows that began to rain down on her own unprotected head and back. Biting her tongue against the pain she clutched her sobbing sister to her chest.

Corporal Nobby Nobbs of the watch was doing a routine stroll through the empty market, thieving or scavenging if you prefer, the fallen and left behind items. Suddenly hearing the shouting he ran to investigate, cautiously peering out from behind a wall.

"Hey," he yelled at the drunken man, "you can't do that! I arrest you in the name of the watch." A backhanded swing caught him and threw him into the brick wall of a bakery. "Right," he said picking himself up, "I'll settle you." He turned and ran for the watch house and Commander Vimes.

Mariel vaguely heard the intervention of some little titch of a watchman, but used the intervention to thrust Grace away from her. "Run!" she commanded as she shoved her away. Grace hesitated and took a few steps when Jonathan burst from the shadows, scooped her up and carried her back to their hiding spot. Mariel was almost sobbing with relief as Grace escaped and tried to collect herself to run when a hand wound into her hair and pulled.

"Oh no you don't, you little slut!" The blows came even harder this time; she could taste blood in her mouth and wetness seeping from a cut above her eye. A sharp pain shot up her back, and she couldn't hold in the small scream that cut through her throat. She was sobbing now, tears mixing with blood. _Let it end,_ she prayed. _Let him tire of it soon. Make it stop, make the pain stop. Oh please, please, please, let it be over..._

A sharp tug on her arm made her gasp as he half lifted her prone form. She stared into his maddened face, gasping as a wrench to her arm caused her shoulder to pop with a splitting pain. Slowly her vision began to go dark, and just before she fainted, Mariel realized he wasn't going to stop. _He's going to kill me this time. I'm going to die._

1 Or stealing, this is Ankh-Morpork after all.


	4. oh good

Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh-Morpork and Commander of the watch, was not having a good day.

"No ma'am I have no control over your neighbor's choice of playing the accordion... Yes it is unfortunate but you shall simply have to bear with it." His voice strained with the effort of remaining calm and friendly. The little old lady in front of his desk clutched her faded handbag to her, but was still not ready to give up the argument.

"It's a disturbance of my peace, Commander!" she squawked.

"Yes but fully within the laws of Ankh-Morpork."

She opened her mouth to argue again but he smoothly cut her off, restraining from the tempting prospect of chucking her out the door. "Ma'am, I will go talk to him- but that is all I can promise, now good day..."

The door to the watch house burst open and Corporal Nobby Nobbs sidled in at full speed, much like a hairy little tornado. "Report sir!"

"What is it Corporal?" Vimes asked, fearing the response to be another pack of loose animals. "What in this gods damned city has gone wrong now?"

Gasping for breath Nobby forced out his words. "Man... beating a child... in the Market, and... it looks bad for her..."

Vimes was out of his chair and running to the door. "Find Carrot and send him to me," he bellowed. "The Market?"

"Second street in."

If there was one thing Vimes couldn't bear, it was bullies beating a child. His feet told him he had rounded the corner to the Market, and suddenly he saw the tableau a hundred yards ahead of him. The burly man had wrenched the girl's shoulder out of socket and drawn his hand back for a stunning blow. The girl herself looked practically done in; if the next blow didn't kill her the one after it would.

"Stop!" Vimes yelled futilely, "I order you to stop in the name of the Watch, I'm placing you under arrest! Stop!" _I'm not going to make it in time,_ he realized as the fist swung down, _it's too late_.

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His Lordship, Havelock Vetinari, had been enjoying a stroll through the alleys of Ankh-Morpork after paying a profitable visit to the locked office of Lord Rust. In fact, the patrician was feeling practically cheerful about the way things were falling into place. Suddenly he stiffened and faded into shadow as a commotion caught his ear. Sidling along the buildings invisibly he rounded the corner and peered into the Market.

He watched indifferent to Nobby's botched rescue and calmly awaited the arrival of Commander Vimes. There was no need for the patrician to get involved in something like this. Vetinari winced slightly as he watched her shoulder pop, then flinched as her head came up.

It was the girl he had helped the night before, her heavily bruised face hung limply but her hopeless eyes seemed to bore into his own. _Damn_, he thought and gauged the distance Vimes had yet to come. _Damn_. He did not want to get involved, but he already had when he gave her the money. _I'm going to regret this_, he thought dismally.

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Mariel waited for the blow that never came. Instead the grip on her arm loosened, and she fell to the cobbles of the street with a small cry. Glancing up through hazy eyes she saw a tall man, dressed entirely in black, incapacitate her struggling father faster than a moving snake. Another man ran up and slapped metal handcuffs on the drunk while holding a brief whispered conversation with her rescuer.

He made an exclamation of surprise and a heated argument before submitting to whatever the tall man had told him. Making a wild gesture that seemed to say, _I wash my hands of it_, he turned on heel and dragged her father off.

Suddenly the tall man was beside her. "Can you sit?"

She tried to speak but her throat was too parched and her split lip too painful, so she settled for nodding instead. Quickly he had he propped up against the fountain in the square. "I need to replace your shoulder back in the socket." His voice was dry and cool, every syllable given deliberation. "It will hurt, so brace yourself."

He grabbed her arm between his hands, gently feeling the shoulder bone, then with a fluid motion, popped it back in place. Mariel gave a piteous moan but no more, her pride refusing to voice the whimpers she felt like uttering. Quickly and professionally he checked her for broken bones or gaping wounds. A cold, wet handkerchief daubed the blood from a cut above her eye, clearing her vision somewhat.

The children, led by Jonathan had edged out of their hiding places, toward their fallen sister. The tall man barely acknowledged their presence.

"Can you walk?"

"Yes." Mariel quelled the uncertainty in her voice and forced herself up. Waves of pain rolled through her body and she staggered. Two cold hands grabbed her before she fell and swooped her up.

"I think we need not repeat that experiment." His breath ruffled through her hair as he cradled her gently, taking care to avoid her bad shoulder. Nodding curtly to the children he spoke quietly, "come then," and began striding off through the deserted streets.

"My brother..." Mariel managed to gasp, "Tom, he won't know what happened." She trailed off listlessly, her thoughts still hazy and muddled from the aches coursing through her body.

"He will be notified."

His voice broke through her daze for a moment and she tried to study his face, fighting the urge to give in and sleep. Her eyes coursed the pale skin, the dark hair, the level eyes. And it hit her exactly where she had seen that face before. On the precious coins she handled every day.

"Are you the patrician?" She asked with her one last effort at coherent thought.

"Yes."

She had time for one last response before oblivion overwhelmed her.

"Oh, good."


	5. deal with the devil

Lord Havelock Vetinari never thought he'd see the day in which he would walk through the city with a string of children following hard upon his heels. He deliberately took the alleys and back ways, telling himself it was for speed, not to remain hidden with his charges. Every so often he would glance behind him, but the children followed doggedly, uncomplaining of the quick pace or twisty directions.

At last he reached the palace and with a curt command opened the gates. He ignored the bafflement he could see on so many of the guard's faces. Up the stairs and into the kitchen he led them where he soon found Mildred Easy, one of the maids who was good with children.

"Please take them to one of the spare rooms and look after them Miss Easy. They could most likely do with lunch as well." He paused and studied the astonished expression on Milly's face. "You are also relived of your other duties while they are in your care. Entertain them in any way you wish."

"Yes milord."

He followed her astonished gaze and saw it resting on the girl he held cradled in his arms. She was so light he had barely noticed he still held her protectively to her chest. "Oh, and I would like someone to notify Tom Daniels that he is wanted at the palace. I will send down the address shortly."

"Yes milord." Milly said again, wondering if his lordship had gone slightly crazy. But the children were her first concern, they were far too thin. "May I take the young'ns to cook for a bite, milord?"

The Patrician smiled wickedly, "yes, I'm sure he'd be delighted to cook for someone other than Wuffles. By all means, take them. I shall be in the mostly blue room."

True to its name, the mostly blue room was well, …mostly blue. The walls were pale blue while the ceiling was painted to look like the noontime sky. Icy blue, almost white curtains fell from the picture windows. Seascapes were hung around the walls, laid out like rolling waves. The plush carpeting was navy blue and nearly and inch thick, and very warm. Even the large oak bed Mariel was laid in had a royal blue velvet canopy and blue satin sheets.

Quickly Lord Vetinari got out a box of salves and bandages and began to examine his patient. There were numerous small scrapes and bruises speckling her arms, those wereeasily taken care of. An improperly set bone in the left arm was far more concern, and at last he decided to re break it and set it properly. Gently he felt it snap like a twig, and guided it back in to place, splinting it with precision. A bit of sticking plaster went on the cut above her eye, but there was nothing to be done about the two black eyes already blossoming on her face. His lordship had just finished washing the last bits of plaster from his fingers, and ready to continue work when the door crashed open and a wild eyed young man burst into the room followed by a flustered maid.

Lord Vetinari dismissed the maid with a nod. The boy, meanwhile ran to the bed moaning, "Mary, oh Mary, is she all right?"

"I take it you are Tom." It was not a question.

"I am." The Patrician noticed the way Tom held her limp hand so tightly within his own. "Will my sister be all right? What happened?" He begged, trying to keep tears from his voice.

Slowly the Patrician related what he had seen, assuring the boy that she would not die, at least not yet. While he spoke, he gently rolled Mariel over to her stomach and began to unbutton the back of her dress. As he uncovered the skin of her back, he stopped aghast. He heard a sharp inhalation of breath, but was not sure if it was the boy's or his own.

"Oh, Mary," Tom whispered hoarsely. "I never knew. We never knew. I'll kill him. How could he. We never knew."

Her back was a lattice work of scars. Some were old, some very new and still raw. Stripes of pink puffy flesh meshed with welts. Large bruises covered a shoulder blade, another wrapped around her hip. There was not an inch of skin left unmarked. A few of the older ones were obviously infected, they oozed a yellow pus, and were red and inflamed. She must have been in agony every time her dress scraped over her back. Every time she carried the heavy goods to and from the market. Every time the ham-like fists flew in a drunken rage.

Appalled, Vetinari slowly, almost tenderly, began to apply healing balm to her many wounds. By the time the final bandage had been wound around her thin and frail body Tom was seething with rage, and even Vetinari could feel his steady hands tremble slightly. Clasping the boy by the shoulder he led him to the fire at the far end of the room. He rung for tea, and pushed a steaming cup into the shocked lad's quivering hand.

"Tell me about your sister."

And slowly, Tom did.

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Mariel knew two things before she even opened her eyes. The first was that she was warmer and more comfortable than she had ever been in her life. The second was that she hurt far more than she could ever remember. Every nerve ached. At last she took a deep breath- and opened her eyes.

She blinked twice in surprise at the deep blue canopy draping overhead. Slowly she sat up, ignoring the various aches and twinges that shot through her. She surveyed the rich furnishings of the room with confusion. A new gown lay draped over a chair, Mariel unthinkingly pulled it on over the snowy shift she wore. Her old gown, covered in mud and gore was gone, most likely for good. Her fingers stiffly fumbled with lacing on the back of the dress when a pair of cool hands brushed them away.

Mariel stood, feeling little more than a child, as the long dexterous hands pulled the laces just tight enough and tied them off in a fluid motion. She shivered as the cold skin brushed the back of her neck, tweaking in the top button.

"You may turn around now." Said the dry voice from behind her, seeing as she did not move.

Cautiously she turned, half afraid of what she might find. The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork stared down at her. Attempting a clumsy curtsy, Mariel felt herself overbalance again. _Damn_, she thought as she started to fall when a strong hand gripped her upper arm. Helping her upright the Patrician slowly led her to one of the plush armchairs by the fire.

"Thank you." Mariel said, flushing slightly. Every time she saw the man she seemed to be falling over. He must think she was a total idiot.

"Your father has been taken to the Tanty." Lord Vetinari's emotionless voice broke into her thoughts. "He shall remain in custody there for quite some time I should imagine. However, he will not be held indefinitely." The Patrician allowed his face to betray nothing as the girls face went from triumphant joy to ghostly pale. Her face was so white that her eyes seemed to grow bigger, into deep mirrors of fear and shattered dreams.

"The little ones," she gasped in horror. "Tom and I can protect ourselves but he will go after the children." Glancing around the room she realized at last what was missing. When she spoke again her voice had an edge of panic to it. "Please, where are the children? Jonathan? Gracie? The twins? Where are they…"

"The children are fine, for now. I believe they are currently playing charades with Miss Easy in the green room."

Later Mariel may have questioned why she took the word of on of the cleverest and trickiest men in Ankh-Morpork on something so dear to her. But his words calmed her, and she let them wash over her like a soothing balm to her heart.

"What will you do?" His Lordship enquired in an offhand tone.

"Well, we shall work… and leave the city I suppose…?" Mariel could not hide the doubt in her voice.

"Perhaps I can offer another alternative." Mariel blinked and stared at the man seated across from her. But neither his face nor his voice betrayed anything she could discern. "I know of an opening for an apprentice in the carpenter's guild. It would be ideal for a young man of sixteen or so. The guild offers great protection for those in its employ…"

"For Tom…" Mariel could not keep a happy cry from her voice. "Of course! He's always wanted it but the fee…" With that she dropped off, her throat constricting. The guild fee was over a hundred dollars, they still could not pay it.

Watching her closely Vetinari continued. "The _Morporkian_ is looking for a cabin boy. It is one of the most prominent of our trading ships. And the crew will let no harm befall one another."

Vetinari could barely hear her whisper, "Jonathan."

He continued as though there had been no interruption. "Both Miss Susan's academy and the teacher's guild are always accepting students as well. They produce fine governesses and tutors."

"And the girls." Mariel breathed. She lifted her wretched face and met his grey gaze. "What do you want from me?"

Lord Vetinari managed to keep the surprise from his face. Most people he dealt with did not catch on nearly so quickly, they would assume it was a gift or a plague, but never a trade. "I find that I am in need of a secretary and a clerk," he replied candidly.

"What about Drumknott?"

"I have given him control of a rather delicate area which leaves far less time for the duties he usually carries out. His new position also demands that he travels a great deal and I will need assistance while he is away."

"You made him a spy." She said it bluntly, without dithering around the point. "And you need to fill his old job."

"In essence, yes."

"Why me?"

Vetinari was pleased with the pointed questions, she obviously had a quick mind, most likely trainable as well. He decided to settle for a half truth, "your brother, Tom, told me much about you. It was on his recommendation."

Mariel glared at him through half lidded eyes but decided not to push the question. "In return for my work you will protect and hide my family?"

"You have my word."

"Will I ever get to see them?" She couldn't hide the quaver in her voice as she asked that most important question.

"Not for quite some time. They will be safer that way."

"The little ones, they will be so afraid," she murmured.

"They may see each other…"

"Just not me?"

"No."

Collecting herself Mariel squeezed out every drop of resolution she had before facing the Patrician. "You have a deal." She paused before continuing with her eyes flashing dangerously and a hint of steel creeping into her voice. "If so much as one hair on their heads is harmed…"

Locking gazes with her own, the Patrician spoke softly, "They will be safe."

And she believed him.


	6. wheels within wheels

Mariel smoothed the soft material of her new wool skirt with nervous fingers and inspected her reflection in the mirror. A pale face stared back at her, two black eyes partially faded but still giving her a gaunt and haunted look. Her hair was, for the first time in memory, clean and clumsily piled atop her head, struggling against it's restraining pins. The figure in the mirror wore the white blouse and dark skirt of a servant, but they hung on her frame, emphasizing the thinness of her slight body. Although two weeks of good food had gone into her, and she had finally shed her starving appearance, Mariel retained the stunted look which so many girls tried to starve themselves into.

She sighed and turned away finding herself wondering what Tom would think of her mirror gazing. What any of them would think. Mariel bit back the sob welling up inside of her, forcing herself instead to think of the pleasures they would find in their new homes. She had won them safety but lost them in the end, if he had offered the deal again, would she still accept?

Remembering the look of joy on Jonathan's face as he learned he was going to sea, and the surprise the twins felt at going to school, Mariel knew she would. As long as she blocked out the image of Gracie, clinging to her hand, Tom's rough embrace and promise that everything would be all right, the sorrow of the twins, and the single tear running down Jon's cheek, hastily swiped out of sight.

The opening of her bedroom door interrupted her reverie. "His lordship is awaits you in the Oblong Office miss," the maid said dropping a quick curtsy. "And I am to assist you if you need anything."

"The…" Mariel blushed and ducked her head, hating to feel so childish, "the buttons on the back of the blouse…" She spread her still stiff and awkward hands helplessly, unwilling to admit to the twinges in her shoulder and broken arm if she attempted to stretch them in any direction.

"Of course miss." Once more Mariel stood still while another person helped her to dress. "You're all done up now."

"Thank you."

The maid must have seen the helpless frustration and embarrassment welling up in her eyes for she suddenly dropped her formal tone and gently patted Mariel's arm. "Don't worry about having to call me up if you ever need anything. I've had broken fingers before and know just how terrible it can be."

Just before she was out the door she heard a small voice from behind call out, "Wait!" Turning to the girl she heard, "please, what is your name?"

"Julia, Julia Edwards."

"Thank you, Julia." And the maid could see the slightest of smiles playing against the corner's of Mariel's mouth.

---------------------------------------------

"Come in Miss Daniels," a voice greeted her softly, stopping her hand before it even had time to knock. Mariel entered feeling slightly foolish, and her eyes were drawn to the Patrician as he sat, head bent over his work, behind his imposing desk.

"Please, take the chair."

She moved to sit in the small chair in front of the desk but was stopped as without raising his head he said, "no, the other chair." It was then that she noticed the second chair seated alongside his desk, with a portable writing portfolio set neatly on top of it.

Sitting correctly this time she noticed two things at once. The first was the special padding on the straight back of the chair. It cushioned her so nicely she could barely feel the aggravating effects of her half healed back. She glanced sideways at the Patrician, but as he was still systematically ignoring her she turned back to the second thing which had caught her attention.

The wooden writing box had, elegantly embossed across the top, _Mariel Elisabeth Daniels_. The fact that the Patrician knew her full name did not surprise her a bit. In fact unless she was very much mistaken he probably knew her age down to the exact second, every job she had ever applied for, the nickname Tom had for her when he was four, and various other sundry details.

Inside the box she found sheet after sheet of top quality smooth white paper. She let her fingers reach out and stroke it reverently. Gently she reached out and touched each of the inky pens, ruefully remembering her charcoal bits and makeshift chalk. Further exploring unearthed a gilded letter opener, sealing wax, and a modified version of the Patrician's seal, clips, envelopes, and lined paper for accounting.

However, she somehow felt there was more, and emptying the box she let her fingers wander over it. Closing her eyes she slowly modified her breathing until she felt as though she was spinning, glossing her fingers over the smooth wood as though it were finely spun silk. At last she found it, the smallest of lumps in the perfect harmony of the wood grain. Pressing it just so she watched as a small compartment slid out of the base of the box, just big enough to store a small stack of important papers.

_Clever,_ she thought, _but not wholly unexpected_. She stared back at the profile of Vetinari once more, noticing at last that he seemed just a little too absorbed in his work for it to be anything but an act._ This is a man who spins plots within plots, wheels within wheels, and secrets within secrets. _At that point her mind froze and screamed at her to repeat that last thought. _Secrets within secrets. Secrets within…_

Without hesitation her fingers flew back to the open drawer and in seconds she had the false bottom removed. Underneath lay a far cleverer compartment, not visible unless one knew to look for it. It was thinner than the other, only able to store a dozen papers at most, but much more secret than the other. For indeed, who upon discovering a secret would immediately discount it's contents as false or unimportant and immediately search for another.

Gently Mariel replaced the false bottom and set the rest of the papers neatly inside the box, leaving out only one sheet and a pen. Setting them down in front of her she smiled and waited, if patience was what he wanted then by god he would get it.

Vetinari smiled to himself as his new charge discovered the second of the secret drawers. He had not believed that she would find it so quickly, when Madam had given an equally similar box to him for his seventeenth birthday it had taken him a week before he knew all of its secrets.

She had seen through his act as well, although in truth he had been reading the reports with care as well. But it was not necessary for her to know all of his numerous talents. After another few seconds which she let pass by in prim silence he raised his head from his work.

"Miss Daniels, I trust that everything is to your liking?"

"Yes your lordship." He watched with amusement as her eyes darted to the box with a knowing twinkle.

"Very well, in which case I would like to begin your training. You can read and write and do sums I trust?"

"Yes." She tried not to look offended at the slur on her education. "My mother taught me before she died."

"We will begin with basic correspondence, please copy a suitable response to each of these and bring them to me when you are through." With that he passed her a sheaf of papers and went back to the piles on the desk.

"If you please your lordship, what response am I to give?"

"Whatever you think suitable, I shall go over them before I sign." With studied nonchalance he added, "there is a little table by the window for your use. However if you prefer it can be exchanged for a desk."

Mariel glanced at the sunny window alcove, "the table will be fine milord."

---------------------------------------------------

Your Lordship,

A most distressing affair has recently come to my attention. I recently discovered that all of the watchmen patrolling my street are dwarfs. Now as I am a family man, I am most concerned for the safety of my wife and children. And you know what they say about dwarfs. I have spoken to Commander Vimes, who was quite rude and blatantly refused my request to dispose of the miscreants. I am certain that you will be able to rectify the situation immediately.

MartinTaylor

Cheese Merchant

_My dear sir,_

_I appreciate the nature of your concerns, however, the dwarfs are law abiding Ankh-Morpork citizens as well as members of the watch. They are no cause for worry, and I trust they will be treated with complete respect. The patrols will continue as before._

_From the Office of the Patrician_

- New diplomat from Klatch, needs welcoming letter and ack. of credentials.

_Your Excellency, _

_You are cordially invited to begin your diplomatic residence in the city of Ankh-Morpork. If you will come to the Patrician's Palace on the third at one o'clock, bringing your credentials with you, the Patrician will formally recognize you and your party. The new Klatchian Embassy has been rebuilt on Filigree Street, if there is anything your Excellency finds himself wanting, please do not hesitate to ask. The city is at your disposal._

_The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork_

_Havelock Vetinari_

Queen Molly would like to request one (1) palace, 10,000 dollars, and a steak feast.

_No._

----------------------------------------

By midday Mariel had finished the last of the papers. She had written nearly a hundred responses and felt like screaming at the small minded complaints and politically correct replies.

Wordlessly she handed the papers to the Patrician and accepted the mug of tea she felt pressed into her hand. Breathing deeply into the steam, she sighed and let the tension she felt melt away. By the time she had finished loosing herself in the soothing brew, Vetinari had gone through the majority of the papers.

"Well done." He smiled at some of the wording and commented, "don't you really think this letter is a little pointed?"

"Which, oh him. No I most certainly do not, and if you had read what he had to say about anyone who was not a "pure and unsullied Morporkian" you would agree with me, your lordship."

"Very well." Quickly he worked his way through the stack, signing letter after letter. Mariel wondered idly if his hands ever cramped up from signing things. "Take these down to the first floor and give them to Mr. Grosbeak. He will see that they are delivered."

"Yes milord."

"Then you can begin this next stack here." The Patrician gestured to a high pile of papers, tottering unsteadily on the corner of the desk. Mariel barely suppressed a groan as she trotted the first batch downstairs.

------------------------------------------------

The stars were shining in the night sky before Mariel finished her work for the day. Wearily she placed it on the desk and stretched out her aching neck. The Patrician set down his pen and glanced at the night sky.

"I believe that is enough for one night."

"Thank you." Mariel turned, and began to leave for her room.

Vetinari's voice stopped her. "Are you not hungry?"

Listening to the growling of her stomach she paused. The meals she had received over the past weeks were spoiling her, she never had minded hunger so much before. "Yes, I suppose so milord."

"Will you dine with me?"

Puzzled she allowed him to lead her to a different room, a study. Here a sumptuous dinner was laid out on the table. Gallantly, Vetinari pulled out a chair for her and helped her in it. _He's up to something,_ her mind whirred.

All through dinner they made small talk until Vetinari mentioned trade relations with Genua which were pushing up the price of silk and wool. This sprung into a heated argument in which Mariel forgot she was speaking with the Patrician and instead debated taxes candidly, as if he had been one of her brothers. By the time it ended Mariel was flushed and breathing hard, her mind more stimulated by his clever words than it had ever been.

_Such a mind ought not go to waste,_ Vetinari thought. Standing he motioned to the chessboard. "Would you honor me with a game, Miss Daniels?"

"I've never played."

Mariel listened carefully as he explained the movements of each piece, battles and traps already forming in her thoughts. She lost her first game spectacularly. The second was a little better and the third greatly improved. Although she consistently lost, it was with less and less of a margin.

Only when the clock struck two in the morning did they stop. Vetinari ushered her off to bed on doctor's orders, staying only long enough to change the bandaging on her back. Mariel drifted off into a dreamless sleep filled with wily bishops, crooked knights, and pawns metamorphosing into queens.


End file.
